Chapter 700.3: The Rise
Mountain River Dreaming walked to the door and knocked. It opened quickly, and a wrinkled face peeked out through the crack, eyes full of unease. “Sirs?”
“We’re just taking shelter from the rain.”
As he spoke, Mountain River Dreaming pulled out a 100-denomination Xilande note and pressed it into the old man’s hand.
“Th-thank you,” the old man stammered, backing away and opening the door.
The room was dim but just bright enough to see.
In a space of less than 10 square meters stood a table covered with pots and bowls. Those glossy eyes were hidden behind it.
They belonged to children around 11 or 12 years old. They were sallow-skinned and had dirty faces. There were boys and girls alike, each wrapped in a single cloth sheet stuffed with linen fibers, as if torn from a whole curtain or bedsheet.
Seeing the gleaming exoskeletons and the rifles slung across their chests, the children’s faces showed both fear and curiosity.
They had never seen armored men like them before and felt these figures looked even more imposing than soldiers carrying rifles.
Two slightly older girls, fear and unease on their faces, quietly climbed upstairs along a ladder at their mother’s urging.
Mountain River Dreaming felt a twinge of pity but said nothing, standing with his three teammates by the doorway to keep out of the rain and avoid disturbing the family.
The two sides faced each other in silence, with only the patter of rain outside.
After a while, perhaps deciding the men in iron weren’t that frightening, and unable to see their eyes through the visors, the adults and children gradually stopped paying them much attention.
Aside from the three women upstairs, everyone gathered around the table, scooping fist-sized clumps of reddish-brown mud from an iron basin and flattening them into patties.
The old man muttered something under his breath, then, with mud-smeared hands, grabbed crushed wild greens, pepper, and cardamom from a basket and sprinkled them over the mud cakes.
The players exchanged glances, unconsciously swallowing, whispering over their communication channel.
“That’s... dirt?”
“Most likely.”
“Damn...”
“Suddenly nutrient paste doesn’t seem so bad.”
“But they actually have spices.”
Mountain River Dreaming said nothing. He remembered reading in Sisi’s post that north of Port Gallon lay a vast stretch of red earth.
It was completely different from what people usually called edible clay, both in color and composition. Apparently it had been artificially modified. Though crops couldn’t grow in it, once boiled, filtered of grit, and drained, it could be eaten.
The local poor mixed in plant fibers and seasonings to make it more palatable.
Of course, while eating modified soil was safer than clay, no one could live on it seven days a week.
Most of Port Gallon’s lower class lived on black beans and a larger chickpea-like legume, supplemented by berries and wild vegetables. Their main protein sources were insects and freshwater snails.
Mud cakes were only a stopgap when money was tight.
All in all, straddling the tropics and subtropics and sitting on an alluvial plain by the Everflowing River, the area’s food sources were relatively abundant.
That was was why the settlement could cram in so many people, far beyond the land’s carrying capacity.
But the survivors in Port Gallon were merely alive, with less dignity than cattle in a pen.
At least only outsiders ate those mid cakes.
Before long, the seasoning ritual ended, and the mud cakes had dried to a half-damp state.
The man picked up a few, placed them in a palm-sized bowl, and handed it to an older child, whispering for him to bring them upstairs to his mother and sisters. Then he rubbed his hands together and called the family, already swallowing their saliva, to eat.
Zero Rush couldn’t stand it anymore. Ignoring his leader’s look, he pulled a compressed biscuit from his backpack and walked forward, stuffing it into the hands of the nearest child amid the family’s startled gazes, murmuring in the Federation language the best he could, “Eat this.”
He knew it meant nothing, like shoving coins into an NPC’s empty house. It wouldn’t change anything, but he did it anyway.
There was no special reason. Wasn’t playing a game about following one’s heart?
Mountain River Dreaming shook his head but said nothing. Two Moonlight quietly raised a thumbs-up.
The little girl, barely as tall as Zero Rush’s exoskeleton chest plate, stared at him with wide, glossy eyes through her fluffy, loose hair, then looked at her father. Seeing no objection, she bit into the plastic packaging.
When the serrated edge scraped her mouth, Zero Rush hurriedly gestured and spoke. “You have to tear it open. Like this.”
She hesitated, clumsily mimicked his motions, tore it open, and took another bite.
In an instant, her eyes widened. Those glossy pupils seemed to take on color, rippling with a hazy sheen.
It was a taste she had never known.
She stuffed it into her mouth ravenously. Seeing her, Zero Rush glanced around, didn’t see any water, gritted his teeth, and pulled out a bottle, twisting it open and handing it to her. “Don’t choke.”
She did choke, coughing hard before gulping down most of the water and finally recovering.
Lifting his visor, Zero Rush crouched, smiled, and gently patted her fluffy hair, asking softly, “What’s your name?”
“Ano.”
That sounded like a boy’s name?
Whatever.
Zero Rush didn’t mind and continued with a smile, “My name’s Zero Rush. If you ever see bad people carrying those long guns, go that way and find us.”
He pointed toward Rowell Camp, their base camp for the time being.
With her mouth full of crumbs, Ano nodded vigorously, licking her fingers. Who knew if she even listened to what he said.
The other children stared longingly, swallowing as the sticky mud cakes instantly lost their appeal.
Since he already started, Zero Rush took out the last few compressed biscuits from his pack and handed them to everyone present, including their father, the deeply wrinkled old man.
Watching the children devour them, Zero Rush felt a wave of satisfaction and smiled. A few compressed biscuits cost nothing, and no one ever ate them anyway, they were just emergency rations.
The slightly older boy took his younger brother upstairs, likely to share the treats from the iron men with his mother and sisters.
The old man stared silently at the biscuit in his hand, face full of worry, as if weighing something.
Finally, as if making up his mind, he looked at Zero Rush with a pleading expression. “Ano is too young... Please, change your pick.”
Zero Rush’s smile froze. “What?!”
Two Moonlight burst out laughing, clutching his stomach and leaning against the mud wall. Mountain River Dreaming stared at Zero Rush with a darkened face, then looked away in embarrassment.
The usually silent Version Firstborn suddenly snapped to attention and spoke. “In the Poro Province, only elders and husbands may touch a woman’s head. If she’s unmarried, touching her head implies a marriage proposal... I just logged out to check Sisi’s post.”
“Holy...?!” Mountain River Dreaming sighed.
“Drag him out and shoot him!”
Two Moonlight, who’d been giving a thumbs-up moments ago, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s nasty man.”
Version Firstborn raised an eyebrow. “...?”
“Wait, I didn’t know! That doesn’t count!” Zero Rush jumped up, half-laughing, half-crying as he tried to explain, but his three teammates all looked at him with disdain.
Little Ano just kept licking her fingers, unconcerned by the babble, not understanding why her father sighed. Her glossy eyes were fixed on the backpack full of delicious things. She was thinking only one thing,
If only there could be another piece.
Unnoticed, the rain outside stopped. Just as Mountain River Dreaming was about to lead the team away, a gunshot outside shattered the post-rain calm.
All four tensed instantly.
Without even saying goodbye, Mountain River Dreaming shoved the door open and sprinted into the street, his three fully armed teammates right behind him.
Boosted by their exoskeletons, the four moved like lightning. In a single breath, they spread out toward the sound of gunfire, braced against cover, and raised their rifles.
But to their surprise, the armed figures standing across the street were not enemies.
They were their own...
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